


Kinesis

by gemjam



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-15
Updated: 2014-02-15
Packaged: 2018-01-12 12:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1186128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gemjam/pseuds/gemjam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the year after Mark's retirement from Formula 1, Mark and Sebastian grow closer and the people around them can't help but notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinesis

**Author's Note:**

> Written for kthxrawr for understeers.
> 
> This was all accurate when I started writing it but then certain things happened i.e. Heikki leaving and the line up being confirmed at Porsche, so certain details don't quite match up with reality anymore.
> 
> Many many thanks to zeraparker for her feedback throughout the process and betaing it for me once I was done.

Christian Horner – FIA Gala – December 2013

Sebastian's speech isn't really a surprise, though Christian expects the media will treat it as such. What makes Christian pause isn't the fact that Sebastian claims he'll miss Mark, it's the fact that Mark seems so genuinely touched by it. Mark lets praise and criticism roll off his back in equal measures, he's an incredibly self-sufficient person, and while he's friendly Christian knows there's very few people that he truly lets in.

That expression though, Christian can't tear his eyes away, so genuine and vulnerable, and it makes Christian feel a little choked up. Or maybe that's just Olivia. Ever since Olivia came along Christian has been a wreck of emotions, feeling everything so much deeper. She softened him up just like Mark warned him she would and Christian couldn't be happier about it.

It's a moment he witnesses later on though, when the awards are all handed out and the speeches are finished and everyone's just waiting for the first person to break for the door and it becomes accepted to leave. Christian exits the main function room and heads for the toilets, feeling that strange disorientation as he steps over the threshold and the spell of the gala is momentarily broken by the mundanity outside.

That's where he spots Mark and Sebastian, stood just outside the corridor to the toilets. Mark is leant with his back against the wall, hands shoved in the pockets of his suit trousers, one leg bent at the knee with his foot propped against the wall. Sebastian stands to his right, leant sideways against the wall, his face angled up to Mark's as he talks about something. Mark isn't looking back at him but Christian can tell he's listening, a small smile gracing his lips as he stares down at the floor, an acknowledgement of whatever Sebastian is saying to him.

It's quiet out here and Christian notes that they really don't need to be that close, that Sebastian doesn't have to lean in so far to be heard. There's an earnest expression on his face, something honest and exposed and almost yearning. Mark lifts his head up, meeting Sebastian's eyes, and Sebastian stops talking, just stares back. That moment of silence between them seems incredibly meaningful, so many things going unsaid, but for the first time in years Christian doesn't get the slightest hint of hostility, not from either one of them. Maybe it's just because Mark's leaving and this is finally all over; they don't need those walls anymore.

Sebastian smiles, shifting slightly, his posture relaxing as he starts to speak again. Mark looks away, eyes scanning the lobby, and they land on Christian. He instantly feels like he's been caught in the act. Mark's face gives nothing away, offering Christian a nod of acknowledgement, but he straightens himself up, putting his foot back down on the floor, the ease of his stance gone.

Sebastian pauses and follows Mark's gaze, looking suddenly embarrassed. He takes a step away from Mark, putting on a forced smile. Christian feels awkward now but he knows he has no choice but to go over, to at least offer a greeting on his way past the pair. Sebastian is already gone by the time he crosses the small space though, walking around Mark and into the toilets.

"Everything alright?" Christian asks. It's his night off and Mark's not even his responsibility any more but he supposes old habits die hard.

"You know how sentimental he gets when he's drunk," Mark replies offhandedly.

"Is he drunk?" Christian asks.

Mark shrugs. "A couple of glasses of champagne. That's all it takes, isn't it?"

"I suppose," Christian replies though he doesn't really believe it. He opens his mouth to speak again but he can see Mark's mind is already somewhere else.

"Better go find Robert and Fernando," he says, pushing himself away from the wall. "Promised them a proper catch up."

"Yes," Christian agrees.

Mark smiles and claps him on the shoulder as he walks past. Christian watches him go, finding a certain peace in the fact that, if they all have to part, it seems like they might just be able to do it on good terms.

 

Mitch Evans – Heathrow Airport, London – January 2014

Arriving back in England always feels slightly bittersweet. He's known since he was tiny that if he wanted to make it in Formula 1, Europe was where he had to go, and so it's always represented a great adventure for him. He's built a life for himself here now, has real friends that feel like family, and while leaving New Zealand will always be hard and he wishes he could pick up his hometown and put it down in the Buckinghamshire countryside within touching distance, arriving back in the characterless terminals of Heathrow still feels like something of a homecoming, if a slightly more downbeat one.

As he steps out of arrivals his eyes dart around past the happy reunions, looking for the familiar figure of Mark. When he doesn't see him he looks at his watch, wondering if his flight got in early. It's then that Mark stands up from his seat a little away, waving over at him. Mitch smiles and starts towards him, frowning when the person Mark was sat with stands as well; Sebastian Vettel.

"Good flight, champ?" Mark asks, enveloping him in a familiar hug. Mitch returns it, slapping him affectionately on the back, but his eyes are on Sebastian who has begun to gather up his own bags. As soon as they part, Mark sees where Mitch's attention is.

"Seb's flight got in a little before yours," Mark explains. "Seeing as I was here anyway I said I'd give him a lift. Don't mind a little detour to Milton Keynes, do you?"

Mitch shakes his head. "Fine by me."

Sebastian smiles at him, looking almost shy, and Mitch feels like he might have just stepped into some parallel universe. Never mind that taking Sebastian to Milton Keynes will take them nearly an hour out of their way and Mitch has absolutely had enough of confined spaces for the last 24 hours and really wants to just throw himself down on his bed right now, thank you very much, he can't work out how this situation could have even come about. Mark didn't talk to Sebastian when they were teammates, why is he suddenly in the know about his travel plans?

He follows Mark to his car, the BMW, not the Porsche he usually picks Mitch up in, and as Mitch is putting his suitcase in the boot Sebastian takes the front passenger seat. Mitch stares forlornly before slamming the boot closed. He didn't even shout shotgun.

On the drive to Milton Keynes Mark barely even acknowledges Sebastian, too busy laughing with Mitch and coaxing stories out of him about his time in New Zealand. It's good to catch up and Mitch finds he doesn't mind the extra distance that much as Mark tells him about Christmas in England and New Year in Edinburgh.

When they pull up outside wherever Sebastian is staying, Mark turns the engine off and unclips his seatbelt. "I'll help you with your bags."

Mitch watches as they go around to the back of the car, talking quietly as they pull out Sebastian's things. Mark walks him to the door and then Mitch frowns as they go inside, the door closing behind them. A light turns on inside and Mitch waits, staring at the door, but Mark doesn't return. With a sigh Mitch climbs through to the front seat of the car, taking out his phone and checking Twitter. When Mark still fails to appear he opens up a game, his legs feeling restless. Today has been filled with too much boredom and waiting.

It's ten minutes later when Mark finally emerges, wrapping his jacket around himself against the cold night as he jogs down the path, jumping back into the car. Mitch puts his phone away, watching him pull his seatbelt on.

"What was that about?"

"What?" Mark asks, turning his key in the ignition.

"What were you doing in there?" Mitch asks.

"Nothing," Mark dismisses, checking his mirrors before pulling away from the curb.

"Nothing?" Mitch repeats. "You spent ten minutes doing nothing?"

Mark gives a small laugh and that's when Mitch notices the shine in his eyes, Mark's expression one that he can't quite place. He looks almost giddy.

"How did you know when his flight was?" Mitch asks.

"What do you mean?" Mark asks.

"You said you picked him up because his flight was at the same time as mine," Mitch points out. "Since when have you discussed travel plans with Vettel?" Mark gives that laugh again but he doesn't respond. "Doesn't he have a private jet, anyway?" Mitch continues. "What's he doing flying into Heathrow with the masses?"

"If I knew it was going to rile you up this much I would have made him get a taxi," Mark says, clear amusement in his voice.

Mitch looks at him, studying him for a moment. "I thought you couldn't wait to get out. I thought you'd never speak to him again."

"So did I, mate," Mark agrees. "Funny how things work out."

His voice sounds so easy, so relaxed and carefree, and Mitch can't see it as anything but genuine acceptance. It doesn't make sense to Mitch, knowing what he knows about Mark's relationship with Sebastian, that things could slot into place for them so easily, that they'd be _friends_ this soon after everything. Mitch crosses his arms over his chest, wanting to warn Mark, wanting to remind him how much he hates that little shit, but it's not really any of his business at the end of the day and Mark can look after himself. Mitch knows he must be missing a piece of the puzzle though. He runs it through his mind over and over again, the thoughts lulling him to sleep long before he reaches a conclusion.

 

Heikki Huovinen – Stuttgart, Germany – February 2014

Sebastian is late. Heikki drums his fingers on the steering wheel, eyes scanning the carpark. The sky is clear, the winter sun irritatingly low, shining in his eyes. He should have brought his sunglasses but he thinks they're back in Switzerland somewhere. He folds the visor of the rental car down, shuffling in his seat to get comfortable.

Five minutes pass and Sebastian doesn't appear. It's not really a surprise; Heikki's lost count of the hours he's lost waiting around for Sebastian. He reaches into the backseat for his bag, pulling out his book and settling in for the wait. When another five minutes have passed Heikki adjusts his seat to give himself more room, resigned to the fact he could be here a while.

Ten minutes later he hears footsteps and laughter and looks up to see a young couple crossing the carpark arm in arm, a simple little moment that makes Heikki miss his own girlfriend. He doesn't get to have nearly enough carefree moments like that with her and he knows he can't blame Sebastian for it; sometimes Heikki thinks he's more obsessed with the win than Sebastian is, the feeling of it addictive.

He pulls his phone from his pocket, typing out a 'missing you' text, but it comes out sounding generic and he deletes it, staring out of the windshield. It's cold outside but it doesn't feel like winter anymore, not like he's used to. He imagines wool hats and mittens and big coats, kisses where you feel like your mouths might stick together. When they were young and they had nowhere to go for privacy it was what they had to resort to. Heikki smiles, picking up his phone again.

_-I want to go walk in the snow with you._

The bemused response comes a couple of minutes later.

_-Why?_

Heikki hears voices again and this time it is Sebastian. He tosses his book into the back and returns his attention to his phone before doing a double take. The person Sebastian is chatting to, smiling at, walking alongside, is Mark Webber. As they get near the car they stop walking, exchanging goodbyes, and then they hug, not the one-armed, half-hearted hug that's a staple of the paddock but a real hug, two arms, lingering for a moment before they finally pull apart.

Mark turns to Heikki, offering a wave as he heads on his way, and Heikki nods at him, knowing he must look like he's just seen a ghost. Heikki barely notices as Sebastian slips into the car beside him, fumbling to get his phone back in his pocket before adjusting his seat again. Sebastian sighs, a noise of contentment, before he pulls his seatbelt on. Heikki looks at him.

"That was the friend you were meeting?"

Sebastian blinks at him. "What?"

It's the infuriatingly oblivious thing he does when he doesn't want to answer a question and Heikki could repeat himself but there's no point, Sebastian has made his position clear. Heikki turns the key in the ignition instead, pulling out of the parking spot.

A mobile phone chimes as they drive down the road and Heikki thinks it must be him, his girlfriend wondering why he hasn't responded to her question, but then Sebastian pulls his own phone out of his jacket pocket. Once he's answered it and slipped his phone away, Heikki feels like it's safe to speak.

"What's Mark doing in Germany?"

"Some Porsche thing," Sebastian says vaguely, looking out of the side window, a clear indication that he doesn't want to talk.

Heikki nods, but he can't help poking. "I didn't know you kept in touch."

Sebastian shrugs and his phone chimes again. They pull up to a red light and Heikki looks over at him, seeing the smile that pulls at his lips as he reads the message, and somehow he can tell that it's Mark. Sebastian can be as elusive as he wants, Heikki can always tell.

It's one of several messages Sebastian receives on the long drive back to the hotel and with each one Sebastian snuggles a little further down in his seat, looks a little more loved up. It's a side to Sebastian he's rarely seen, his posture saying that he's vulnerable but happy to be so. He's not afraid to let his guard down.

Heikki doubts himself, thinks Sebastian must be talking to someone else, someone he knows well, someone he trusts. But then who has Sebastian spent more time with over the last five years than Mark? They've seen each other at their worst and yet they brought out the best in each other if only in terms of pure revenge. They have nothing left to fight for now and what can you possibly do with all the knowledge you gained from trying to tear someone apart except use it to put them back together again, use it to keep them safe.

Life's not as easy as that but the look on Sebastian's face speaks for itself. He comes across as naive but Heikki knows he's guarded where it counts and he doesn't let just anyone in. Heikki really has no choice but to trust his judgement here and be ready to pick up the pieces if it's needed.

Back in the hotel room Heikki takes his phone from his pocket, returning to his girlfriend's text.

_-Why?_

The most simple and complex question in the universe. He hovers his thumb over the keypad, chewing on his lip absently, but he can't reduce his answer down to a few characters on a screen. Instead he presses a button to connect the call, laying himself out on his bed as he listens to the rings. If she wants to know _why_ then he's going to have to go right back to the start, recounting the story of when a boy met a girl.

 

Fernando Alonso – Spanish Grand Prix, Barcelona – May 2014

Fernando wonders why he's the only one left feeling off balance by the changes at Ferrari this year while Kimi acts like he can't even remember his previous time with the team. Fernando knows he does remember because he asked for Andrea, Fernando's trusted race engineer, and it highlighted to Fernando just how much he'd once taken away from Kimi and just how much Kimi could take away from him if he chose to.

Fernando got to keep Andrea but the nagging doubts wouldn't leave him. Everyone who works on Fernando's side of the garage, everyone Fernando relies on, used to belong to Kimi and Fernando knows that even the hint of split loyalties could put him on very shaky ground. Fernando didn't put so much effort into building this team around him to have it stolen away by the return of the prodigal son.

It's not that Fernando doesn't like Kimi, has any problems with him personally, his presence just makes Fernando feel insecure because Kimi is building a new team while he still has a draw over Fernando's mechanics and Fernando can't do a thing about it. All his motivational speeches and Samurai quotes and expectations of greatness he's put on the team, he's not sure it's enough to fight the human nature of being pleased to see an old friend.

Fernando sits at the back of the garage, too aware of his own posture, too aware of the way people move around him, and he looks up at the monitor to his left that shows the early stages of FP1, a few of the backmarkers going out and warming up the track for the rest of them. The action's not very exciting though so he's not surprised to see himself on the screen shortly afterwards, embarrassed by how pensive he looks.

He turns to the camera, offers a smile and wave and thumbs up, knowing this will be shown on the big screens outside for all the fans in the grandstands as well as everyone watching at home. He expects he'll be seeing a lot of that camera this weekend; it's inescapable during a home grand prix and he tries to be grateful because he knows he'd be nowhere without the support of the Spanish people behind him. He can't deny that the smiles get a little more worn as the weekend goes on though.

Fernando sees that the screen has changed and he looks to his left to see Mark looking back at him, a small amused smile on his face like he's having a joke with the audience as he gives a little wave. Fernando smiles. He's missed Mark and it warms his heart to see him here. They have dinner plans tonight and Fernando's been looking forward to it all week. They haven't kept in touch nearly as much as Fernando would have liked, but it was what he expected. Formula 1 was the common denominator in their years of friendship; without it they were bound to drift apart, caught up in their own lives. It's how it always was away from the track.

As the shot of Mark pulls back slightly, Fernando can see his surroundings more clearly, making him frown. It's not really a surprise that he's in the Red Bull garage, but Fernando can't understand why he'd be on Sebastian's side of it. His own Red Bull ties lie on the other side of the garage, the people working around Daniel's car, and so Fernando can't work out why Mark wouldn't be drawn to them, wouldn't be chatting to his old mechanics rather than stood alone at the back of Sebastian's car, arms crossed over his chest like a spare part. It goes against all of Fernando's theories about Kimi since the beginning of the season and he can't make any sense of it.

"You say you will support Ferrari," Fernando says over dinner that evening.

" _You_ said that," Mark counters, spearing a piece of pasta as he smiles indulgently at Fernando. "Besides, mate, I'm still a Red Bull athlete. Don't reckon Dietrich would be too happy if I was surrounded by Ferrari red when there's a couple of charging bulls a few doors down that would be much more on message."

"Yes, I suppose," Fernando agrees, picking at his own food. It's not that he really believed Mark would be stood there at the back of his garage, but he thought he'd be more keen to support him over Sebastian Vettel. "Why were you on that side of the garage?" he asks.

"What side?" Mark asks, looking confused.

"Seb's side," Fernando states.

Mark shrugs, turning his attention to his food. "I was just trying to stand where I wasn't in the way."

"Then you would be in the corporate guests area," Fernando points out.

Mark looks up at him, seeming taken aback. "Yeah. Maybe." He stabs at some more pasta, shoving it in his mouth. "Pressure of the home race getting to you?" he asks through his mouthful, but the question sounds more understanding than accusatory. "Don't miss that. I used to hide in the toilets just to get some peace."

"Toilets are nice," Fernando nods. "Quiet."

"Yeah," Mark agrees.

They eat in a silence for a few moments and Fernando knows that he should drop it, accept Mark's change of topic, but the question still nags at him because if Fernando's wrong about Mark then maybe he's wrong about Kimi too.

"Don't you miss them?" he asks. "Your team? I mean the ones who worked on your car only. Don't you miss them?"

"Yeah," Mark says, resting his fork on his plate as he stares thoughtfully at his glass of water. "A lot of those guys were there for most of my career and you see them every day, you owe a lot to them. But then you move on and you have to rely on other people and..." He shrugs, meeting Fernando's eyes. "They're good guys and we had some great times and we had some fucking awful times, but at the end of the day you can't go back. People move on. That's life."

"So if they had to choose between you and Daniel..." Fernando prompts.

Mark laughs. "Why would they ever have to choose between me and Daniel?"

Fernando sighs. They wouldn't of course. That's not the case with him and Kimi. "I think I would still be on my side of the garage," he says, almost to himself.

"I just stand where I'm not in the way," Mark repeats, turning his attention back to his food.

Before qualifying the next day Fernando sees Mark on the screen again but this time he's oblivious to the camera. He's at the back of Sebastian's garage, leaning against the tool drawers that Sebastian is sat on. Sebastian's head is bent down to talk to him and something about the body language, the way they both seem so comfortable with their close proximity, makes Fernando sure that Mark's place in that garage is very very deliberate.

He frowns, still staring at the screen as it changes to a shot of Lewis in the Mercedes garage. If nothing else it distracts Fernando from Kimi for the rest of the weekend.

 

Brendon Hartley – Le Mans 24 Hours – June 2014

Sebastian arrives under the cover of darkness as though it'll stop him being recognised. Brendon sees him slip into the back of the garage with Mark, a plain beanie pulled down low on his head and only the subtlest Red Bull branding on his jacket. Mark gives him a mini tour, pointing a few things out while they stick to the edge of the garage, staying out of the way of the team that's still working, this race the only one on the calendar that Brendon considers to be true endurance.

He watches them for a while, how comfortable they seem around each other, and Brendon can tell that this is the opposite of a PR stunt. This is two people who have decided to hang out, no ulterior motives. Brendon will be the first to admit that he was never really privy to most of the details of Mark and Sebastian's years as teammates, but he was close enough on the Red Bull sidelines to get accurate accounts. What he sees now contradicts every single one of them. He takes out his phone, scrolling to Dan's number.

_-What's your teammate doing here?_

Brendon knows that it's late, that any sensible person would be in bed, but it's not long before he gets a reply from Dan.

_-Seb? Where? At Le Mans?_

_-Getting the VIP treatment from Webber._

_-Seriously? Is this the sleep deprivation talking?_

Brendon switches his phone to camera mode and holds it up as discreetly as he can, snapping a photograph and sending it straight to Dan. He thinks it makes his point perfectly clear. Sebastian is watching the footage on one of the screens and Mark is looking at him with something that can only be described as fondness. Weird.

It's not long before he has a response from Dan.

_-Fucking hell. Have you all gone mad there?_

_-Maybe. I'll keep you posted..._

Dan has a point, Brendon really does need to get some sleep. His own stint in the second car finished nearly fifteen minutes ago and he's still hanging around the garage like a spare part. He casts a final glance towards Mark and Sebastian who have placed themselves in a quiet corner, standing close together so they can hear each other over the noise. At least, Brendon _assumes_ that's why they're stood so close together. He shakes his head. He really needs sleep.

It's never easy to switch off when you know the race is still going on around you, when so many things could be happening to your car, to the position you've just fought so hard to maintain or achieve. There's so much trust involved, in your team, in your fellow drivers that you have to hand the wheel over to. Brendon expected Mark to have more trust issues when he arrived, he knows just what the inside of the Red Bull institution is like, but he was always easy and open. Maybe it was just the relief of getting away from a system that always seemed against him. If that's the case, why is he so keen to invite Sebastian Vettel, of all people, into his new life?

Brendon's not really sure if he can call his fitful dalliances with unconsciousness 'sleep' but he rouses himself anyway, feeling refreshed enough that he'd rather be out there where the racing is than locked up in his trailer. When he gets to the garage to check on their progress Mark is out in the first car and Sebastian is at the back of the garage with a pair of headphones on, eyes glued to the timing screen. There's something so intense about him, even in a quiet moment like this, and Brendon can tell he has something invested in this; it's not the casual observing of a friend.

While Sebastian watches the race Brendon finds himself watching Sebastian, the way he tenses when Mark gets close to another car, the way he grins when he gets past, the way he flinches when the backend steps out in the final corner. Somehow it's more informative to Brendon than the screens he could be looking at, the team radio he could be listening to. There's worlds of stories in Sebastian's expressions and Brendon feels like he's reading them all at once.

Sebastian slips his headphones off as Mark returns to the garage, his stint over. Mark goes to his engineers first, does a quick and typically animated debrief. Sebastian waits in the corner like a nervous schoolboy, smiling warmly when Mark's attention is finally on him. They exchange a few words and then Mark places his hand on the small of Sebastian's back, guiding him gently towards the door.

Brendon can't help but move after them, peering out of the garage to see Mark and Sebastian disappearing into Mark's trailer. He takes his phone from his pocket, typing out a message to Dan.

_-Do you think they're fucking?_

It's only after he presses send that he thinks to look at his watch. It's 4am. Sometimes it's hard to remember that the rest of the world isn't awake like you when you're stood in such a brightly lit hive of activity. He doesn't really expect a response but he gets one within ten minutes anyway. It only serves to prove that he's definitely woken Dan up.

_-Who?_

Brendon considers not responding, letting Dan go back to sleep, but he's been asked a question and surely that's an invitation to continue the conversation. It would be rude not to.

_-Webber and Vettel._

Less than thirty seconds later his phone is ringing in his hand, Dan's number flashing up on his screen.

"Have you gone mad? Go to fucking sleep, mate."

"I have slept," Brendon tells him. "Kind of."

"It sounds like you're hallucinating," Dan says.

"You're not seeing what I'm seeing," Brendon insists.

"I don't think anyone is," Dan mutters and Brendon can hear the rustle of sheets, can imagine him propping himself up and rubbing a hand over his tired eyes.

Brendon walks out of the back of the garage, looking over at Mark's trailer. The blinds are closed, the lights shining from inside, but there's no telltale shadows. "Why is he here?" Brendon demands. "In the middle of the night to watch his ex-teammate who, by all accounts, he couldn't even stand."

There's silence on the line before Dan gives a tired sigh. "Yeah," he says, reluctant admittance in his voice. "That's what I was wondering too."

Brendon leans against the wall, staring at Mark's trailer. "You really think..."

"No," Dan says quickly. "I don't. It's something else."

"Like what?" Brendon asks. Silence. "The lights have gone off," Brendon tells him, staring at the suddenly darkened windows.

"Maybe Mark's getting some sleep," Dan says. "Like you should be. Like _I_ should be."

"What, and Seb's just sitting there in the dark is he?" Brendon asks. "He's still in there too."

"Huh," Dan says, suddenly sounding more interested. "Are you sure?"

"My eyes haven't left the door," Brendon insists.

"That is... weird," Dan says. Brendon hears him clicking his tongue before there's a sudden movement of sheets and Brendon can imagine him sitting up in his bed, bouncing like an excited kid. "They're fucking? They can't be fucking," Dan dismisses, but he sounds incredibly gleeful about it.

"Well, all that tension had to lead somewhere," Brendon says, a smile curving his lips upwards.

"I am giving Seb _hell_ about this when we get to Austria," Dan says. "He's got a lot of explaining to do."

Brendon chews on his lip, looking away from the windows. "Maybe don't," he says. "I mean, if we're wrong you're going to look like a dick."

"You don't think we're wrong," Dan scoffs.

"No," Brendon agrees. "We're right. But stay on Vettel's good side. You've still got a long way to go in that team."

Dan sighs and Brendon can hear the impact of his body as he falls back down on the bed. "He doesn't run the team."

"Don't make waves," Brendon tells him.

"I think that maybe you're being a romantic, Hartley," Dan accuses, a teasing note in his voice. "Trying to protect love's young dream?"

"Mark's not so young," Brendon dismisses, pushing away from the wall. "I've got work to do."

Dan snorts a laugh. "Good luck."

A few hours later, when Brendon has finished his stint in the car and is heading back to his trailer, he sees Sebastian coming down the steps from Mark's trailer with serious bed head before he pulls his beanie back on to cover it. He smiles at Mark but there's no hug, no goodbyes. Brendon guesses they did all that in private, away from prying eyes. He hopes they're smart enough to keep it that way.

 

Ted Kravitz – British Grand Prix, Silverstone – July 2014

"Which brings us to Force India and Sergio Perez who had another retirement today," Ted says, glancing up towards the camera as he navigates his way through the paddock, something catching his eye. "If you look that way, Pete, you'll see Mark Webber with a bottle of podium champagne and is he wearing Vettel's winner's cap?" he asks, directing his cameraman by gesturing with his notebook. As Mark moves closer Ted can tell it's definitely the first place Pirreli cap he has backwards on his head.

"That is interesting," Ted says. "I wonder if he bludgeoned Vettel to death with that champagne to get it off him." He shrugs, the camera still focused on Mark as he makes his way towards the Energy Station. "He's with Heikki Huovinen, Vettel's rather tasty trainer, who's got the winner's trophy there. Definitely a shot for the ladies."

The camera focuses back on him and Ted looks down at his notebook. "Anyway, where were we?" He looks up at the camera again. "He's doing very well with the Porsche, isn't he, Mark Webber. He's had a few podiums, third place in Le Mans a few weeks back. No win yet but some impressive results." He looks at his notebook again, trying to pick up the thread of his report, but his thoughts don't quite cooperate.

"It's the second Grand Prix he's been to since his retirement, of course. He was in Barcelona as well, supporting his old team it seemed. I wonder if he was in the victory photo. He was never in those when he was still with the team."

He glances behind himself towards the Energy Station where Mark is stood outside, talking to some of the team personnel, Heikki still by his side. "Maybe it's a goodwill gesture from Vettel," he muses. "Maybe they kissed and made up."

He shrugs, focussing on the camera. "Right, Sergio Perez..." He starts walking again, talking through the rest of the grid while the time counts down in his ear to pass back to Simon, but he can't shift thoughts of Mark and Sebastian from his head. He definitely needs to dig a little deeper into that.

 

Britta Roeske – Belgian Grand Prix, Spa-Francorchamps – August 2014

Sometimes Britta feels like the only time she gets any peace during a race weekend is when the cars are out on track. The Energy Station is emptied of team members, all in the garage or on the pitwall or crammed into the offices, puppet masters making their two cars run as smoothly as possible. Britta's job isn't to make the car go; Britta's job is Sebastian and so long as the visor's down he's someone else's problem.

There are corporate guests seated around as Britta makes her way through the Energy Station but their eyes are glued to the race, the murmurs of excitement and anguish muted compared to what it's like during the rest of the weekend. Britta has always loved the energy of Red Bull, the atmosphere that never fails to infect everything the team touches, but sometimes it's nice just to be able to breathe.

Holding the press releases in one hand she keys in the code to Sebastian's private room, pressing down on the handle when the little light turns green. She's immediately greeted with the sound of the TV, the race coverage playing, and she frowns, assuming Sebastian left it on. She steps into the room, intending to turn it off, when she sees Mark sat on the sofa, feet propped up on the table, a bottle of water held loosely in his hand.

"Hey," he greets, looking perfectly at home.

"Hi," Britta responds, trying not to look as surprised as she feels. "Sorry, I didn't know anyone was in here." She holds up the papers in her hand. "I was just leaving these for Seb. Not that he'll read them."

"Straight in the bin," Mark agrees, taking a swig of his water, his attention already back on the race

Britta considers the layout of the room. She'll have to block his view to get the press releases on the table. Somehow the action seems needlessly rude. She looks at Mark again, his casual posture, like this is his room and not the mirror version of it he's found himself sat in a year too late. "Does Seb know you're in here?" she asks, unable to stop herself.

Mark smiles, looking amused. "How do you think I knew the code?"

Britta looks down, embarrassed. She knows there's not many people Sebastian lets in here; Heikki, her, Christian, Rocky, the team chiropractor. This is his sanctuary, the place he hides away even from his own team, the place where he crumbles when he doesn't want anyone to see. She can't imagine how Mark Webber became a part of that inner circle.

"You want to watch with me?" Mark offers.

Britta looks up at him, surprised by the question. "I have things I should be doing," she says, gesturing vaguely towards the door.

Mark gives her a conspiratorial look and drops his voice to a whisper. "Shut the door. I won't tell."

Britta smiles at him, doing as she's told. She tosses the papers onto the table and then sits down beside him, checking out the TV. Sebastian is still in first place, coming up to the end of his second stint. The Ferraris of Fernando and Kimi are gaining on him and she chews on her lip nervously. They'll probably start taking time out of each other soon though, squabbling for position and letting Sebastian strengthen his lead.

She glances at Mark beside her, his posture typically laid back, but there's a tell in the way he nervously twists the plastic seal of the bottle around and around the neck like he can't quite be still. She wonders at the fact that she's known Mark for years but she's never really _known_ him. Sebastian's always resolutely not talked about him, especially in the later years of their time as teammates, and he doesn't speak about him now, but there's a very straightforward reason for that; Mark isn't around anymore. It occurs to her now that Mark has been around a lot more than she expected since his departure from the team.

"Why are you in here?" she finds herself asking. "You're usually in the garage."

"Photographers," Mark shrugs, not looking at her, and she wonders if it's to hide a lie. "I know they're just doing their job but it gets to be a pain in the arse. I just want to watch the race, same as everyone else here."

Britta nods, Silverstone coming instantly to mind, but hadn't he courted that? What else did he expect when he went wandering around the paddock wearing Sebastian's winner's cap? She doesn't even remember how that came about, Sebastian, Mark and Heikki at the back of the garage messing around, and then Heikki had left with Mark which was strange enough in itself; Heikki never went anywhere without Sebastian. Britta studies Mark for a moment, the cogs turning in her head. Heikki protects Sebastian. Sebastian and everything that's important to him.

Mark turns to meet her gaze, his expression amused. "You look like you're thinking very hard," he says, turning back to the TV. "Don't think so hard." It sounds like a warning, albeit a friendly one. She diverts her gaze towards the race coverage.

Mark sighs, seeming restless. He pulls his feet from the table and tucks them underneath himself instead and Britta feels like she shouldn't have intruded, should have just put the press releases down and made her excuses. Whatever Mark's reasons for hiding in here he's clearly looking for a bit of peace and she hasn't provided it as well as he'd hoped.

Sebastian comes in for his pitstop and Britta holds her breath. It's not as quick as it could be, the right rear slow to go on, and she knows that will help Fernando; a tenth of a second is a lifetime to them. She frowns, watching him pull away when he's given the green light, and hopes it's not enough to start the race unravelling.

"So what is it you do while he's racing?" Mark asks. "Just sit around waiting for him to either fuck it up or turn everything golden again?"

Britta smiles, eyes still fixed on the screen to watch Sebastian's out lap. "It's what I live for," she says dryly.

"Some things never change," Mark says fondly.

Britta looks at him. "Is it weird?" she asks. "Coming back."

"Oh, you can't ever go back," Mark dismisses. "No reverse gear in life."

The words resonate with Britta. Things are always moving forward, progressing, and even the things that stay the same are changed from a moment before. It's not just this sport, it's life; you're never the same person you were five years ago, five minutes ago. And maybe that accounts for why Mark is sat here, playing with a water bottle and, Britta can tell, urging Sebastian on for the win. You can't go backwards; all you can do is adapt and try to work out who you really are.

After the race, when she's walked Sebastian through all his media commitments, they head back to the Energy Station, Britta still trailing him and briefing him on everything he needs to do before he can leave. He nods along, stopping when he gets to the door to his private room, turning back to face her. Britta waits but he makes no attempt to open the door like he usually does and she realises he's waiting for her to leave. She glances behind herself to make sure the coast is clear before she speaks.

"I know that Mark is in there."

Sebastian presses his lips together, staring at her for a moment while he considers his options. "It's not a PR disaster," he says, his voice pleading and his eyes scared.

Britta blinks at him. "No," she agrees, the understanding of how deep this goes crashing down on her. "I know. It wouldn't be." Sebastian continues to stare at her, desperation in his expression, and Britta reaches over, pulling him into a hug. "I wouldn't let it be." He hugs her back and he smells of sweat and champagne and engines; victory.

 

Jenson Button – Italian Grand Prix, Monza – September 2014

Jenson usually doesn't require his heat training until the next race when they head to Singapore but with the way the weather's been in Italy lately it seems like he'll be needing to call on it early. It's supposed to cool down by race day, but on Thursday night it's still sweltering and Jenson kicks the sheets off onto the floor, groaning as he sprawls out naked over the bed.

"Jenson," Jessica says sweetly. "I need some ice."

He cracks an eye open to see her holding out a glass to him and smiling angelically. He grunts, pushing himself up and looking for something to cover himself with. He pulls on some sweatpants and a T-shirt, taking the glass from her hand and grabbing his keycard on the way out.

He itches absently at his stomach as he heads to the ice machine at the end of the hall, thinking he should probably have brought a glass for himself as well. If he fills it all the way up to the top maybe they can share. He hears a door click closed and looks up to see Sebastian standing awkwardly and trying not to make eye-contact. Jenson can't help but grin. He knows exactly who's staying on this corridor.

"Alright?" he asks.

"Hi," Sebastian says, like he's just noticed him.

"Jessy needed ice," Jenson says, holding up the glass. "Does Mark need ice too?"

Sebastian glances behind himself, looking towards the door Jenson knew he must have come out of, even though he's no longer stood in front of it. He looks back at Jenson's gleeful face, a blush rising up on his cheeks. "No, he's fine."

"Oh, I bet he is," Jenson says suggestively, winking at Sebastian before continuing on his way.

Surprise isn't the right word for what he feels because he's known Mark for over a decade now and is close enough to Sebastian to see that, with the barriers stripped away and a little bit of understanding between them they could probably build a decent friendship. The way they both live away from the circuit, no glitz or glamour or pretensions, just space and nature and the people that really matter. All the fighting between them, the animosity, it seemed so pointless to Jenson, all because of what happened on a racetrack, something that never reflected real life at all.

So surprise isn't really what he feels as he listens to Sebastian's hurried footsteps down the carpeted hallway floor, but it's not quite a feeling of inevitability either. When he was a kid he used to hurt his brain thinking about parallel universes and the speed of light, the only thing he was going to allow to be faster than him. Sometimes he wakes up in the morning and looks over at Jessica and he feels like he must be living in a parallel version of his own life because he can't imagine that he deserves her. But life is nothing but a series of possibilities and sometimes the right ones line up at the right time and everything ends up making perfect sense, even if no one else ever saw it coming.

The next day he sits with Mark in the paddock, late in the afternoon when the practice sessions are done and the sun is getting lower in the sky, though the temperature resolutely refuses to go down. Jenson sips continually from his water bottle, knowing hydration is going to be a big part of the battle this weekend, keeping his straw between his lips as he listens to Mark talk about life in the WEC.

"Looking for that win before the end of the season?" Jenson prompts.

"Mate, we're being realistic," Mark tells him. "We're the new boys, we'll be happy to hang on to third place in the championship. It's a big deal to us."

Jenson nods. "Bit of an adjustment?"

Mark shakes his head dismissively. "Always knew it wasn't going to be a fairytale."

Jenson can't help but smirk. "Not the racing, maybe. How about the love life?"

Mark snorts a laugh, giving him an incredulous look. "What love life?"

"You're telling me you haven't picked up some hot young thing since leaving Formula 1?" Jenson asks innocently. "A cute little blond maybe?"

"Does that sound like my style?" Mark asks, giving him a look.

"People surprise you sometimes," Jenson shrugs. He sits back in his chair, placing his straw between his lips. "It's so hot I think I might be starting to melt."

"It's going to be a tough one on Sunday if this keeps up," Mark agrees, reaching for his own drink.

"Could barely sleep last night for the heat," Jenson says. "Then Jessy had me going to fetch ice for her." He looks Mark dead in the eye, speaking pointedly. "So I was out there in the corridor around midnight. Getting ice."

Mark nods slowly and Jenson can see the realisation in his eyes, even if it doesn't reach the rest of his face. "That's because she's got you wrapped around her little finger."

"Nowhere I'd rather be," Jenson says smugly.

"Ain't love grand," Mark says mockingly.

" _Love_?" Jenson asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Hypothetically speaking," Mark responds, looking away and busying himself with his drink.

"Of course," Jenson agrees. He lifts up his water bottle. "To kissing frogs."

"I don't kiss frogs," Mark dismisses, refusing to meet the toast. "And I don't think Jessy would like being referred to like that."

Jenson laughs. "No fairytales?"

"No fairytales," Mark agrees.

Jenson thinks for a moment. "To finding answers to questions you didn't know you were looking for."

Mark looks at him sideways, his face contorting into one of those expressions only he seems capable of. "And that means...?"

"I don't really know," Jenson admits. "But that's how I felt when I met Jessy."

"To better halves," Mark offers, holding up his own drink.

Jenson taps his water bottle against it, taking a sip, but he can't resist. "Better?"

Mark looks thoughtful, his tongue darting out to moisten his lower lip before he starts chewing on it. "It's..." He trails off, looking lost. Meeting Jenson's eyes he looks stripped away, a raw honesty in his expression. "Yeah, questions you didn't know you had. Things you didn't know you were missing out on."

"Yeah," Jenson agrees, making sure he's being equally earnest.

"Yeah," Mark repeats quietly, looking away, clearly lost in his own thoughts.

Jenson doesn't want to interrupt. He stares at Mark, the way he looks both soft and intense at once, but that's what it's like when there's someone in the world you really care about. You can't inhabit their body, can't keep them safe, can't live and breathe for them, and sometimes that's painful because you think it would hurt you more if something happened to them than if it happened to you. It's a terrifying and wonderful way to live, being in love. In that moment, he's certain he and Mark are understanding each other perfectly, whether they have the words for it or not.

 

Vladimir Rys – Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, Yas Marina – November 2014

A great photographer should never be seen, never be noticed. That's how you get the best shots, the ones that make people stop and stare and really _feel_. Vladimir prides himself on always getting those shots. It's not just his job, it's his passion, to capture an emotion in a single blink of the shutter, immortalising something fleeting and putting in across in such a visceral way that people can't help but understand.

When Sebastian Vettel takes his fifth world championship, Vladimir knows there's only one place he needs to be. When the official victory photo is over he makes his way into the garage, navigating the ecstatic engineers and sprays of champagne and sets himself up, clicking away in the hopes that he'll manage to get that perfect shot that sums up an atmosphere most people will never get the chance to experience firsthand.

He's got a good eye for detail, for finding a composition that works, but he's never entirely sure what he has on his camera until he loads the memory card into the computer and goes through the shots. He remembers the old days, when he had to wait until he was back home, locking himself in his dark room with trays of developing fluid and waiting to see his photographs revealed, going through hundreds of negatives to try and find the ones that were worth the hassle. Everything was so easy now, the digital revolution. It makes his job much easier, but sometimes he feels like the magic's been stripped away.

That night, in his hotel room, he sits with his laptop and starts scrolling through. He skips forward to the shots from the Red Bull garage, knowing that's the shot he really hopes he pulled off. There's a lot of messy ones for each perfectly framed picture which is fairly standard; he's pleased with the ones that came out well so it's nothing to worry about. He likes experimenting with his subject matter, finding something unique in a moment that will be overexposed by morning, and he's glad he's succeeded. There's one he's particularly pleased with, Sebastian smiling as he hugs a teary Britta, Heikki in the background looking over them like a proud parent.

He gets to the next set, the set he's certain must contain something really special. After being congratulated by Britta and Heikki, Sebastian had slipped out of the main garage, sitting himself on a packing crate just out of view of the celebrations. Vladimir wasn't disrespectful enough to follow him and put a camera in his face, but there was a spot in the garage where he could stand and get some shots of him framed by his team as he sat there, clearly overwhelmed, appearing on the brink of breaking down.

He took out his phone and Vladimir had turned away, taking some more shots of the inside of the garage, Christian and Adrian celebrating with the team. By the time he glanced in Sebastian's direction again he wasn't alone; Mark was by his side. Vladimir instinctively raised his camera, zooming in to get a few shots of them framed by the garage doorway.

It's those photos he's looking through now and he's surprised by what he sees. Mark is stood by Sebastian's side, leaning against the crate, crowding his personal space. Vladimir had noticed that through his viewfinder, though he hadn't really considered what it might mean. What he hadn't noticed was the fact that their fingers were intertwined, such a small gesture but it speaks of so much intimacy.

There's one shot in particular that takes Vladimir's breath away. Their hands are held in such a way that they're framed perfectly between their bodies and Sebastian is looking up at Mark, tears threatening to overspill from his eyes, the epitome of everything Vladimir wants his photograph to express. It's absolute perfection but he knows he can't use it. Instead he selects the set of photos and he attaches them to an email, entering Sebastian's address into the top before writing a short message.

_These belong with you, not me. Deleting from my computer._

_V_

He presses send and then does just that, making sure they're gone from his recycle bin too, just in case. He looks through the remaining pictures again and decides the one of Sebastian, Britta and Heikki is definitely the best of the lot. It looks diluted through Vladimir's eyes now he's seen the other ones, the true raw emotion Sebastian displays to Mark. To the rest of the world, Sebastian hugging Britta will say everything they expect it to, but Vladimir has seen the truth now and he can't help feeling disappointed with what he's left with.

 

Adrian Newey – FIA Gala – December 2014

Events like this always make Adrian feel old. It's not that everyone is younger than him or the wine is flowing at a rate he can't keep up with. It's just that it really hits home to him how much he's achieved in his life. With each passing year he thinks _this must be it now, the best must be behind me._ Five years now he's built a car that no one could keep up with. How much longer can he possibly make this last?

It has nothing to do with self-doubt, nothing to do with feeling like he's losing his touch. He's still passionate about this, is still more than willing to dedicate his life to it, but he's done so many great things and he knows that nothing lasts forever. Each line added to the tally of his successes shows him just how far he's come, and he knows he can't possibly have as far to go again. Another five years doesn't seem likely right now, but neither does packing it all in. He tries to take it a year at a time, but come the gala and another world championship trophy, he feels simultaneously closer to and further away from his boyhood dreams than ever.

It's nice to see Mark here with his Porsche team, securing third place in the championship with an impressive drive to the second step on the podium in Bahrain. That first win might still be eluding them but Adrian feels certain they'll get it next year. He thinks maybe it's better for Mark that he still has that to aim for; sometimes he thinks Mark was more driven before he got that win in Germany, when first place still felt like something to gain rather than something to lose.

He claps extra hard when Mark takes to the stage with his team. Sebastian beside him lifts his hands above his head to applaud, stopping just short of giving him a standing ovation. It's heartening to see. Christian, too, looks extremely emotional, smiling so wide his face will surely be aching later. It's clear to Adrian that, on some level, Mark still feels like _theirs_. Well, that's the reason he and Christian are so pleased. He knows Sebastian's motivations are quite different.

He doesn't remember now when he first noticed it. Maybe it was in Barcelona, when Mark and Sebastian had hugged and looked, for the first time in a very long time, like they really meant it. Maybe it was in Silverstone, when Sebastian hadn't had eyes for anyone else during the team celebrations, giving away his precious winner's cap to Mark and looking like all his dreams had come true. By Spa he was definitely certain, seeing how protective Sebastian was over Mark in a way he only was with things that really mattered to him and he didn't want sullying or cheapening by the media. In Monza he was sure they couldn't be any more obvious, seemingly unable to bear being apart, gravitating towards each other every spare moment they got. And in Abu Dhabi, when Sebastian sealed the championship, Adrian could tell it all felt incomplete to Sebastian until he finally met up with Mark, a rendezvous in the back of the garage that let Sebastian really appreciate just what he'd gained in that year.

People always think that Adrian doesn't see these things, that he's oblivious to the subtleties of human behaviour because he's spent his whole life learning the inner workings of machines, but it couldn't be further from the truth. Adrian is observant of things that most people can't see; the airflow over a Formula 1 car; the relationship between two objects; the hearts that people don't think they're wearing on their sleeves but that give them away every time.

That's probably why Mark and Sebastian feel comfortable being so obvious around him. _Adrian is a genius and so probably somewhere on the autistic spectrum, it will go over his head._ Adrian indulges them. He gets much greater insights that way.

When Mark slides into the empty seat at the other side of Sebastian, instead of the empty seat at Adrian's side, Adrian just smiles. When Mark leans over Sebastian, a blatant infringement of his personal space, under the guise of making himself heard by Adrian over the noise in the function room, Adrian smiles and nods and listens to his pathetic attempts at conversation. When Mark's hand disappears under the table cloth, undoubtedly landing on Sebastian's thigh, Adrian picks up the slack in their exchange, telling Mark about what he's been up to away from the track, offering them a shield to indulge themselves behind. It's the least he can do for two people he thinks so much of. He's not fooled but he lets them believe it. He might not be as young as he used to be but he remembers what this is like. Being a tiny part of it is one way to recapture his youth.


End file.
